As The World Catches Fire

Chapter 9: Into the Trees

Nearly three hundred years ago, humanity and the daemons were at war.

It would be the end of the world, many said. The death was so widespread, the destruction so complete, that the war seemed a fire that would burn and burn until all that remained was ash. Great nations collapsed to ruin. Roads were paved in bones. Smoke blurred the sky, fading the sun to a colourless grey. In Azherbal we called it The End. All days after the war were only borrowed time, we said, a small mercy from the Creators. And so we decided that every gifted day would be one of colour. We painted our houses like flowers, sewed rainbows into our clothing, danced under paper lanterns that blinked like fireflies. We would live, because we should not have.

Scholars differ on what truly ended the war. Some insist that it was by humanity's own cleverness. The remaining human nations knew that alone, no single country could defend their lands. And so they formed the coalitions, and each coalition decided that there would forever be peace among men. They hid their new archons in the floating, abandoned cities left behind by the Creators—one city for each new coalition. United, their strength was enough to blow the daemons back, secure our borders. But many believe that could not have been it—how could humanity have ever found such might, even together? How could iron face the magic of the High Orders, of the daemon kings and queens? This was not our doing, some said. The survival of humanity was divine. We survived because the gods decided it would be so.

Our coalitions had held strong since the war's end, and the archons had remained hidden away in our floating cities. But Irina was leaving. A reigning archon had not set foot on solid ground since the forming of the coalitions. If archons ever met, the cities flew to meet each other; on land, they were vulnerable. They could be killed.

I hurried after Yulia down the halls of the Korongorod, but we could only go as fast as Andiya. She was stronger before, but she still stumbled, still ran out of breath too quickly. Yulia led us through the winding servant passages that connected the Frozen Keep with the rest of the city. We went so far that I had to put my shoulder under Andiya's arm to keep her from collapsing, her chest heaving in exhaustion.

We emerged into a thin alleyway that ran between cramped servant housing and the Korongorod's spiral wall. We were somewhere on the outskirts of the city, not far from the cliffs. Money grew thinner the farther one was from the keep—and there was clearly not much to go around here. Short, thin houses pressed together in the shadows of terraced manors, hidden from sight. Yulia pounded on one of their doors.

A hulking man in rough leather clothes let us in. We stepped inside, and we were surrounded by a hunting party preparing for an expedition—except that I knew everyone there. I saw two of the princess's assistants wearing patched coats, rolling up a tent. Eon Commander Hadrion wore the light clothes of a tracker, her under-eye markings missing. I realised that the man who let us in was one of the Eons who'd initially led us to the archon.

"Kain!" exclaimed Irina. "Thank you for collecting her so quickly, Vankin. Come, come, we're preparing your bags. I could not leave without my Eon."

I hardly recognized her. Irina wore a simple leather coat, her hair was bound in a high ponytail, and she wore no makeup or adornment. But I would never have mistaken her for a commoner. No hunter had her perfect skin, nor those sharp manicured brows, and none held themselves so regally—as though everyone else was beneath them. No change of clothing could ever mask that.

"Seylas, could you outfit Kain? She can't go into the woods in that. And some gloves, for those tattoos?"

Seylas emerged from the hunting party. "As you wish, Your Majesty."